Keiko in Love: a SideStory
by Volpa
Summary: Keiko has some issues. Some really, incredibly big issues. Issues that may, in fact, block out the sun. WARNING: This may be meaningless if you haven't read 'This Mess We're In,' and may be meaningless even if you have. Utterly demented and NOT serious.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry that the next chapter of "This Mess We're In" is taking so long, but fear not! I am working on it.  
  
I have written something for you to ponder in the meantime. . . and ponder, and ponder, until everything loses its meaning and you turn to alcohol.  
  
Actually, I did not write this. A guy in the next town found it on HIS neighbor's doorstep and then left it on my neighbor's doorstep, where I happened to find it. Then I was dared and bribed to post it by Missy (aka Kii), who, uh, similarly had absolutely NOTHING to do with this. Even less than I did, which is not even possible.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I own Keiko, but don't own the other guy involved. And I kind of want to give Keiko away. Does anyone want to take her? Please? If I give you five bucks?  
  
ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: All substance abuse problems and/or self-inflicted injuries sustained during or after the reading of this fic are in no way the responsibility of that guy in the next town who found this on his neighbor's doorstep and then gave it to me, because I did not in any way shape or form write this. Also, if you haven't read "This Mess We're In" yet, this ficlet in no way reflects upon the original story. And don't worry, Keiko is just a Keiko (which may be bad enough).  
  
Enjoy! Or suffer! Your choice.  
  
**********  
  
Title: Keiko in Love - the Side-Story that Should Never Have Happened  
  
Summary: Keiko has some issues. Some really, incredibly big issues. Issues that may, in fact, block out the sun.  
  
**********  
  
Rejected.  
  
Rejected, again!  
  
Keiko's lip trembled. People thought she had no feelings, but she knew.  
  
Oh, how she knew.  
  
Why, she asked herself tremulously as she stared into the mirror of the ladies' room, tears slowly tracking down her rather generously painted face. Why did this always happen? It was always the same. She did so much for love, but it was never appreciated by the object of her affections.  
  
She'd dressed up, hoping he'd notice her, but of course he'd just frozen and looked for an escape route.  
  
This was just too, too much. Never, in her entire life, had she ever been so humiliated.  
  
She kicked off her platform shoes, wiggling her toes and sighing. Then, she reached up and removed her luxuriant wig, casting it onto the bathroom counter.  
  
"Damn it," Naraku said petulantly, once free of his disguise. "I will corrupt and destroy whoever invented these shoes!"  
  
Oh, the things he did for love. Killing people, letting youkai eat him alive, killing more people, disguising himself as someone and then killing people, wearing platform sandals, slaughtering more people. . . it just never seemed to end.  
  
He raised his fist, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "He shall be mine!" he resolved.  
  
Naraku scrutinized his reflection and frowned. "Am I not as lovely as I once was?" he asked, perplexed. He smiled slightly.  
  
Really, he thought to himself. He'd always had such high cheekbones. Perhaps he should take up modeling. . .  
  
His brow creased slightly. Any more than that, and he might be in danger of wrinkling.  
  
"Could it be that he does not enjoy my enchanting laugh?" Naraku sighed. It had taken forever for him to learn not to 'kukuku' in that way that people seemed to find so repulsive. "Could it be that my voice is not as mellifluous as it could be?" Naraku paced the length of the lavatory in his agitation. "What could it possibly be?!?"  
  
He tapped a foot impatiently. He'd been doing everything they said to do in those confounded magazines. He'd even studied numerous articles, all titled with different variants of '50 ways to seduce and please your man.'  
  
Now, if only his man wouldn't keep sprinting in the other direction, he might be able to get somewhere.  
  
"Sesshoumaru," he sighed.  
  
Naraku started to hum a familiar song to himself. Sometimes, this was the only way he could cheer himself up for the next assault.  
  
Damn that unappreciative bastard.  
  
"I will survive! I will survive! As long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive." Naraku burst into song and busted out some of the moves he'd learned in the amphetamine-fueled 70s. Ah, what a decade.  
  
"I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give. . ."  
  
Fully engaged in his feisty and empowering dance-number, he jumped when he realized that a girl had entered the bathroom and was staring at him curiously.  
  
Shit, he thought in realization. He had removed his womanly disguise!  
  
When the girl smiled, he relaxed. "Bad breakup, huh?" she commiserated. "You're really pretty, you'll find another guy in no time."  
  
Naraku blushed delicately. "It's so sweet of you to say so!" he gushed. "Your haircut is just the cutest. Where'd you get it done?"  
  
Really, Naraku thought to himself. He'd felt ever so much prettier after he'd abandoned that baboon suit. It hadn't been his colour, he now realized. He was a spring, not a winter.  
  
A tear came to his eye. No one had ever told him how unflattering that suit had been. Not even his detachments, those ungrateful brats. Sure, they had been good at the killing, but had they ever appreciated it when he'd slaved to keep his hidden, illusory castle clean? Had they ever thanked him for polishing those skulls? No. Of course not.  
  
He shook his head. He'd felt so run down and unhappy in his baboon suit, until that nice Avon lady had come to his door and changed his life with her colour palette.  
  
He'd briefly considered dying the baboon suit pink, but somehow, he hadn't thought a pink baboon suit would really shout 'I'm adorable and modern!' either.  
  
Soon after that, he'd abandoned his more murderous pursuits.in favour of all that the modern world had to offer. Who had time for incredibly complex evil plans when there were facials, manicures, and seaweed wraps to have done? Over the centuries, he'd met so many youkai with enlarged pores who could have used a spa weekend or fifty. It would be criminal not to take advantage of such amenities as were available these days.  
  
He thought back to the time when he'd wanted to become a full youkai, and shuddered delicately, glad that he hadn't achieved his goal. After all, he had no idea what kind of youkai he would have become. He might have become all. . . scaly. An expression of revulsion crossed over his face.  
  
Naraku looked at his reflection with renewed fire. And that. . . that DOG creature had the nerve to reject him! Naraku was positively beside himself. This was an immense blow to his self-esteem. He just didn't know what to do.  
  
Perhaps, he thought darkly, it was time to get serious and deploy those items he'd ordered from the Frederick's catalog.  
  
He sighed.  
  
Love stunk.  
  
However, life just didn't have the same spice when one lacked an unhealthy, blood-soaked sexual obsession to keep things interesting.  
  
"Sesshoumaru!" he cried, donning his wig once more. "Now that I've found you again, you won't know what hit you!" He slipped his feet back into the platforms, refreshed his lipstick, checked his watch, and swept dramatically out the bathroom door.  
  
Keiko had a waxing appointment.  
  
**********  
  
PS - I'm really, really, terribly sorry. 


End file.
